


Man's Best Friend

by dinolaur



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been in charge of naming all of the dogs in the K-9 unit since he was three years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've read some other little fics and drabbles with Stiles and dogs, and I just had to. This will probably have two to three chapters total, depending on what I figure out for the ending. The rest of the pack will show up next time.

Stiles has been in charge of naming all of the dogs in the K-9 unit since he was three years old.

It happens because Deputy Stilinski brings in his young son on the day that the department gets a new puppy. Stiles is absolutely over the moon about the little thing, and the handler—keeping a careful eye and steady hand nearby—hovers over while the two get to know each other. And when he suggests that Stiles be the one to name the puppy, the deputy is pretty sure his son is going to vibrate himself through the floor in his overexcitement.

The little boy takes the job very seriously. He sits down in front of the puppy, who is sitting down as well. They both stare at each other, still and quiet with matching brown eyes. It’s a bit impressive, and the deputy wishes he had a cam-corder. He’s never seen his son not moving for such a long period of time.

Finally, after a full five minutes, the little puppy lets out a tiny yipping noise. Stiles begins to giggle and promptly names him Hiccup.

It becomes a thing in the department. When they get a new dog, Stiles comes in and provides a name. It’s sort of amazing to watch, because apparently there is something about his son that dogs just love. Maybe it’s the way that Stiles immediately runs for them, how he sneaks them treats, how he’ll rub their bellies or behind their ears until they’re completely blissed out, or how he’ll never get tired of throwing the balls for them to chase. But the dogs all love Stiles.

It makes his wife nervous the first time she sees him in the middle of the pen. The dogs are all around Stiles, running and jumping, licking and nudging, and Stiles is shrieking with laughter. By now, the handlers don’t really need to hover over them.  Not a one of the dogs has ever shown any behavior even remotely tense around the boy. They just can’t get enough play time with Stiles, and they whine pitifully when it’s time for him to leave.

The handlers joke that the dogs seem to like Stiles more than them.

It’s not really a joke. It’s probably completely true.

The first dog to retire that Stiles knows is a stocky Shepherd—really, the only breed the Beacon County PD uses—named Barron. Stiles is five years old, and he’s full of questions about what happens to retired K-9s. Barron’s handler has all the answers, patient even in the wake of the hyper little boy’s onslaught. And Deputy Stilinski isn’t sure how it happens, but before the day is out, he’s calling his wife to let her know that they’ve adopted Barron while Stiles rolls happily with his new pet on the floor of his father’s office.

His wife is concerned about the whole arrangement, not because she’s worried about a German Shepherd in the house with such a young child. She’s become just as comfortable with the police dogs around Stiles as the rest of the department. She’s worried because Barron is almost eight years old, and the average life expectancy for a Shepherd is a little over nine and a half years. So they’ll likely only have this dog for about a year, and she’s not sure she wants Stiles introduced to death so soon.

Having the dog in the house is good for everybody. Stiles has a permanent playmate, someone to keep his attention when his little friend Scott can’t come over. It’s good for Barron to keep active, something he wouldn’t get to do as much if his old handler had taken him home. And the deputy feels much better taking the night shifts knowing that Barron is at home to protect his wife and son.

Stiles is almost six years old when Barron gets sick. The vet thinks that it’s best to just put him down rather than draw the process out. They make an appointment to do it that weekend, and Stiles only leaves Barron’s side for the few hours a day that he’s in kindergarten. It’s strange to see Stiles sitting so still for so long, but he knows that his dog is sick and can’t be made to run around anymore. So they sit on the floor of the living room, curled up against each other, Stiles laying his head over Barron’s shoulder, his little fists holding tightly to the dog’s thick fur.

Mrs. Stilinski takes pictures and knows she’ll cry when she goes to get them developed.

Stiles insists on being in the room when the dog is put down. His parents are very wary of it, even though the vet assures them the process is very peaceful. But Stiles says that dying seems like it would be very scary, and that Barron would want to have the people he loves around him when it happens. So they allow him in, and Stiles hugs his dog tightly, burying his face into the thick fur as the vet administers the shot.

It is quick, and it is peaceful, and the Stilinskis are surprised by how well their young son handles it. He’s sad, certainly, and he misses his dog, but he moves on. And somehow, it sort of becomes a thing. They don’t take every retired dog from the department, but if Stiles gets wind about one of them ready to hang up their badge, he bats his eyes and Mrs. Stilinski finds herself adding dog food to the grocery list.

Stiles is eight and is on his third dog—Blue Bell because of her unusual eyes—when his mom gets sick. Stiles might have a hard time focusing without his medications, but he’s a smart and very observant kid, and he knows very early on that this isn’t just a flu or a bug. His mom is always tired, and even though she tries to keep up a smile around him, Stiles can see just how hard it is for her. He tries to help out around the house more, and sometimes he causes more trouble than good without meaning to, mostly seen in his efforts to cook.

She gets sicker and sicker, and she’s in and out of the hospital a lot. Sometimes Stiles has to go stay at Scott’s house, and even though he loves Scott and Mrs. McCall, he hates Scott’s dad. Not only is he a jerk—Blue Bell, who is an excellent judge of character, growls at him every time he comes to drop off or pick up Scott from the Stilinski house—but he never lets Stiles bring Blue Bell over when he needs to stay.

And when his mom is like this, Stiles just really needs the comfort his dog has to offer.

The doctors put his mom on more aggressive medicines, and she finally starts to get better, even though she’s still tired all the time. Unfortunately, Blue Bell’s stomach turns, and it’s time to put her down. Stiles is heartbroken, but if he had to choose, he’d rather have his mom alive than his dog.

His mom goes into remission for about a year before the sickness comes back. It’s worse this time, and she’s almost always in the hospital. Stiles is scared to death, because his dad is never home, either at work or the hospital, and if he is at home, more often than not, there’s a bottle of Jack on the table in front of him. His grandparents come to stay so that Stiles doesn’t have to be a burden on the McCalls, and Stiles doesn’t really know them all that well—they live in Chicago, and he only really sees them on Christmas—so he spends his time when he isn’t at school or visiting him mom locked up in his room. Scott is over as much as he can be, and when he has to go home, Stiles just climbs into bed and holds on tightly to Woodrow as the dog lays his head soothingly over Stiles’s.

Woodrow goes right before his mom does, and the house is just so, so empty, and Stiles can’t handle it. The panic attacks start, and his dad doesn’t really know what to do, because he’s just as lost as his son, and he drinks like he’s going to find the answers in the bottom of those bottles.

It takes time before they start to move on. Stiles gets fewer panic attacks, and his dad cuts back on the whiskey. They never stop missing her. The hole in their hearts never fills up again. Everything in the house is a constant reminder that she isn’t there and never will be again. But, eventually, they start to move on some.

Stiles still names all of the dogs in the unit—the puppy that comes right after his mom dies he names Bojangles because his mom used to sing that song when she was making waffles despite that there was absolutely no connection between the two things, and he had had waffles for breakfast that morning—but they stop bringing home any retired dogs. 


	2. Chapter 2

His dad’s been really busy with all the fallout from the whole Kanima situation. There was a lot of collateral damage, stuff that hadn’t been easily explained away, and, yeah, Stiles really hates keeping his dad in the dark about all this, because his dad always knows when Stiles is lying to him, and he hates seeing that look in his dad’s eyes. But this isn’t really Stiles’s secret to tell, even though it’s constantly putting both him and his dad in danger.

He might need to bring up this whole secret keeping thing at the next pack meet and greet.

He breezes through the station, offering waves and smiles to the officers that he passes. He bursts into his dad’s office, and on a normal day, he might feel a little bad for disrupting his dad’s paperwork time, but his dad is also in the middle of his third shift, and Stiles has no idea what the last time he’s eaten is. Because his dad doesn’t really think about that sort of thing when he’s got his nose to the grindstone like this.

His dad offers him a weary smile, which brightens when Stiles holds up a white paper to-go bag. He snatches it from Stiles’s grasp greedily but deflates a little when he sees that it’s a salad. “Healthy eating, remember,” Stiles says, dropping down into the chair opposite his dad’s desk. “I talk to the doctor while you look at the posters on the walls. I know what your cholesterol levels are.”

“You grew up to have a really smart mouth,” his dad says, but there’s no bite to it.

“I come by it honestly,” Stiles teases back, breaking into his own salad which he ordered as a sign of solidarity. He’ll swing by a McDonalds and grab some fries on the way home.

They chat while they eat—both with their mouths full. They don’t have the best of table manners—and it’s about fifteen minutes later that there’s a knock on the open door. Stiles is barely turning in his seat when there’s the sound of a bark, and his lap is suddenly full of overexcited German Shepherd.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Stiles laughs as Bojangles yips happily and licks his face.

Her handler, Officer Stansbury, grins. He looks like he’s about to extend a hand out for Stiles to shake, but he’d never make it past Bojangles. So while the two officers talk, Stiles slips down onto the floor and lets Bojangles climb all over him. He sneaks a hand up to his salad, grabbing at a chunk of chicken and slipping it to her.

“I saw that,” Stansbury says, holding out a couple of papers to the sheriff. “And here’s her release forms.”

“Release forms,” Stiles repeats, trying to get to his feet. Bojangles doesn’t make it easy for him. She keeps nudging her head at his hand, so he stoops just enough to scratch her ears, looking up expectantly at her handler.

“Yep, old girl’s retiring,” he answers. “It’s her last day.”

Stile’s brows furrow. “She’s not even six. She okay?” His dad hadn’t mentioned any of the dogs getting hurt recently, certainly nothing that would cause an early retirement. But then again, he has been pretty distracted. And his dad was out of the job for a couple of months.

“Got herself into a bit of a skirmish at a drugs bust,” Stansbury says. “She’s made a good recovery, but she’s not going to be up to chasing down perps anymore.”

“You okay, girl,” Stiles asks, leaning down to rest his head against hers. She pants and licks at him.

“Wish she didn’t have to turn it in,” Stansbury says. “We’ve already got Vanilla Bean, and my wife’s little Yorkie is scared to death of him. Can’t imagine the little rat’ll take well to Bojangles too.”

Stiles can’t help but chuckle as he scratches behind her ears. It’s not that Bojangles would be mean to a little dog, but she does like to chase, and sometimes she doesn’t understand how big she actually is.

The sheriff signs the papers, and Stansbury says, “Ready to go girl?” Bojangles whines pitifully, circling Stiles’s legs and throwing her head back to look up at him.

“Aw, come on now, pretty girl,” Stiles says, dropping back down to his knees. He smiles at the dog, and she licks his nose. Bojangles was the first dog that he named after his mother had died. She’s a bit of a tribute to her, and Stiles had desperately needed that in the months after he lost her. If his dad had needed to take Stiles up to the department, Stiles would head immediately for the dogs. Smart and intuitive, they had all known he was sad about something. So instead of pestering him to play, they had all laid around with him, and he had kept the little puppy Bojangles in his lap, holding her tightly to him and wishing his mom was still around. He’d even snuck out of school and walked all the way to the precinct to do it once.

He blurts the thought without really considering it. “We could take her,” he says.

“We what,” his dad asks.

“Bo,” Stiles says. “We could take her home.” He looks up at Stansbury. “You’ve already got two animals, so you probably don’t really want to add another to the mix, and I’ll pay for her food, Dad, no problem. Plenty of allowance money saved up. And this isn’t my first rodeo. I know how to take care of the dogs.”

His dad runs his hands over his hair. “I don’t know, Stiles. You’ve got lacrosse practices, and you’re out running around with Scott a lot further than just the backyard now.”

This is suddenly just really important to Stiles that he gets to have Bojangles. “Dad, please,” Stiles says. “Come on, you know I’ll take care of her. I’ll cut back on shenanigans time, I swear.”

The sheriff exchanges a glance with the other officer, and Stansbury shrugs. “I have no problem with it, boss,” he says. “The dogs all love Stiles. Couldn’t ask for Bojangles to go to a better home.”

“All right,” the sheriff says, throwing his hands up in defeat. “All right. Big medical expenses, I’ll help you out with those, but her day to day, that’s on you, son.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Dad,” Stiles cheers, throwing out his arms. Bojangles’s tail wags wildly. “You hear that, girl? You get to come home with me. Yes, yes, you do!” She runs in a couple of circles, barking once.

``

Stiles spends that afternoon pulling out the old dog toys and bowls from a storage box in the garage and showing Bojangles around her new home. She acclimates very well, doesn’t whine or worry. She enjoys her new treats and scraps from his dad’s plate at dinner. Stiles doesn’t reprimand him. Not only did he slip her some earlier, but they can be lax on that on her first night in the house.

They still have an old bed, but when Stiles pulls it out of the dryer and lays it out in the living room, Bojangles just looks at him like he’s lost his mind. So Stiles shrugs and lets her follow him up to his room and take over the foot of his bed. He’s only got a double. It’s really not enough room for a teenaged boy and a fully grown German Shepherd, but he’s glad to have her, and it’s nice to have the comforting presence of a dog again.

``

The next day at school, Stiles meets up with Scott and Allison at his locker. He doesn’t even get so much as a “good morning” before Scott is stumbling back and making weird twitching faces. Stiles and Allison just stare as he crinkles and swats at his nose. “What the hell, dude,” Stiles asks.

Scott snorts and shakes his head, and he looks really pathetic when he says, “Why do you smell like that? Ugh. It’s dog. It’s everywhere. Ugh.”

Stiles barely has time to process that before Allison sticks her face right into his shoulder and inhales. This is his life, ladies and gentlemen.

“I mean, yeah,” she says, backing off a bit. Not far enough. She’s still sniffing. “Smells like you’ve been near a dog, but not like stinky outside dog smell.”

Scott is still making faces, and he finally settles for burying his nose in the crook of his elbow and glaring at them over his arm. “How does that not bother you,” he asks, muffled. “And seriously, dude, why do you smell like that?”

“Because I got a dog,” Stiles says.

Scott whines, “Why?”

“It’s one of the K-9s,” Stiles says. “She retired, so I brought her home.”

Scott blinks. “You haven’t done that since your—in a long time.” Stiles is kind of glad he caught himself on that one.

Allison asks, “They let you just bring home police dogs.”

“Well, my dad is the sheriff,” Stiles says, turning to open his locker. The bell’s going to ring in a few minutes. “And the retired K-9s go home with their handlers, usually. But when I was a kid, sometimes we would take them. Dad eventually stopped letting me, since we’d only have them for a couple of years before they’d go down.”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet that you give them a home,” Allison says. “What kind of dog, a German Shepherd?”

“Yeah, her name’s Bojangles,” Stiles says, and Allison coos. “She’s almost six, retired a little earlier, so I’ll get to have her for longer.” And thank God for that. Bojangles wasn’t even around when his mom died, but she reminds him of her more than any of the others.

The first bell rings, and they head off for econ, Scott shuffling behind Stiles and Allison with a pouting scowl. Neither are impressed.

They finally meet up with Erica and Isaac on the way to lunch. Their reactions are pretty similar to Scott’s until Erica says, “Derek’s not going to like that smell,” and then she’s suddenly pressed all up against him.

“Good idea,” Isaac says, and he’s on the other side. Scott jumps in a second later, and they’re just all over him. In the middle of the hall. Where God and everyone who is normal can see. Allison is laughing because she is of no help. And then Lydia is sliding up beside her, slim brow arched as she asks what’s going on.

Allison says she’ll explain while they’re in line, and they head off into the cafeteria, leaving Stiles to cry after them, “Lydia, Allison, no, please guys. Come back. Save me!” But they don’t save him from the three werewolves who are intent on rubbing the smell of his dog off him. Because this, this is his life now.

“You are terrible people,” Stiles says as he thunks his tray down on the table and squeezes in between Lydia and Allison. He is not sitting on the other side where the wolves can have their way with him again. “And you realize,” he adds, scowling across the table at them, “that I’m just going to get her smell all over me again when I go home after school?”

Erica scowls, and Isaac suggests, “You could bring her to the pound.”

Stiles glares. “Absolutely not,” he snaps. “I am not getting rid of my dog. Don’t even bring that up again.” Thankfully, Isaac looks properly chastised. Erica’s shoulders droop a little bit too. “You people are horrible. No one complains that Lydia has a dog.”

Lydia just makes an unimpressed face, and Scott says, “Yeah, but she’s always had that dog. And she’s not really pack yet. No offense, you’ll get there,” he adds. She just makes the same face as before.

“Why are you thinking Derek is going to have an issue with me having a dog,” Stiles asks with a longsuffering sigh.

“It came out of nowhere,” Erica all but cries. “From the freaking woodworks, just jumping right into the middle of everything.”

“Plus it’s a cop dog,” Isaac supplies. “You think it remembers Derek’s scent?”

“Well, maybe this will stop the unannounced climbing through windows,” Stiles mutters.

``

It does not, in fact, stop the unannounced climbing through windows.

He’s had a pretty uneventful and domestic afternoon. His dad’s back on shift, so he handles picking up the groceries afterschool. Bojangles is completely under his feet while he’s putting them away, and then he takes her on a walk around the neighborhood. He’s got a buttload of pre-cal problems to go through, so he pops an Adderall and settles in at his desk. He’s about halfway through the set, his fingers tapping wildly against the side of his head, when Bojangles, resting at his feet, lifts her head suddenly.

“What’s up, girl,” he asks. She’s still like she’s caught the scent of something, and then she jumps to her feet, snarling and barking. “Whoa,” Stiles cries, and then his window opens, and he sees why. Derek is perched on the sill, a full on glare twisting his features as he stares at the barking dog.

“Come on, girl, that’s enough,” Stiles says, then adding, “Can I help you?”

Derek drops down into the room, and Bojangles just about loses it. She jumps in front of Stiles, her hackles raised, and teeth bared as she growls and snarls. Derek’s eyes flash red, and he hisses at her. Stiles has seen him do that to other dogs before, and they’ve always run off from him, Bojangles just gets angrier. She backs into Stiles’s legs, but it’s not in a retreating fashion. It’s like she’s making sure he’s right there and that she’s an efficient barrier between him and the stranger that’s invaded her new home.

That is just the sweetest thing.

 “That’s enough, pretty girl,” Stiles says a little more forcefully. Bojangles stops barking but not growling. “So, wanna help me out here? Maybe look a little less like you’re going to rip out my throat so she’ll calm down.”

Derek doesn’t stop glaring, but his eyes at least go back to normal. “I didn’t think they were serious,” Derek says, crossing his arms. “That you were stupid enough to actually do this.”

“Excuse you,” Stiles says, dropping down by Bojangles and holding her close. “This is a beautiful and loving creature who needed a home, and—and what is with all of you hating on my dog?”

Derek just growls. Bojangles jerks forward a bit, but not out of Stiles’s grasp. “Okay, seriously,” Stiles says. “What is it? You don’t like her because she’s a dog and not a wolf? I mean, look at her. Pretty freaking  close. And hey, you know what, she can smell things from further than a wolf can, just saying. Not sure about hearing. But it’s got to be just about the same. And she’s almost as big.”

Derek bristles a bit.

“Is it because she likes me more that you,” Stiles asks. “Because, okay, two points. One, she’s totally not the only one that thinks that, and two, German Shepherds are like way territorial. You come stalkering in here like you own the place. Nope. She’s not having it.”

Derek takes a step forward, an arm outstretched. “Will you just—“ He’s cut off by a really nasty string of barking.

Stiles grins. “Sorry, Derek, you’re not the alpha here,” he says, and then brightens. “Oh, hey. I am though. I’m her alpha.”

Derek looks like he would love nothing more than to put Stiles through a wall. Stiles does a victory dance because he can. “Aw, yeah, it’s my birthday, no more bruises. No more manhandling. Got my own little beta girl. Someone is going to get such belly rubs when the mean old sourwolf goes away.”

Derek makes the weirdest face at that, but he quickly goes back to glaring at Bojangles like she’s dealt him a personal insult. “This isn’t over,” he promises and leaves through the window.

“Good luck sneaking in here any more like a creeper,” Stiles yells after him. He turns back to Bojangles, who is giving him a big puppy grin and wagging her tail. She runs in two circles and yips happily, pleased to have run off the intruder. “I am going to have so fewer heart attacks now that you’re here, Bo,” he says, giving her a good scratch.

``

Scott and Allison come over the next morning to meet Bojangles. Like the previous afternoon, she isn’t very impressed with the trespassing werewolf, but Stiles gives her a firm signal to hold back, and she sits. He’s still careful to stay between his dog and his friends, because Bojangles isn’t about to ever hurt him or his dad, but German Shepherds are territorial and don’t immediately take to strangers. Best not to have to report that she’s snapped at someone she wasn’t supposed to.

“She’s not going to bite me, is she,” Allison asks a bit nervously as she slowly extends a hand at Stiles’s okay. Bojangles is watching her carefully, assessing if she’s a threat to her human.

“No,” Stiles says. “She just needs to get to know you. Then you’ll see what a big sweetie she is.”

Scott looks unsure. “I don’t remember any of the other dogs hating me that much.”

“Well, you didn’t smell like rival pack then,” Stiles says. “Or maybe not rival. Just other.”

Allison stands very still as Bojangles sniffs her hand and smiles brightly when the dog nudges her for a pat on the head. “She’s very pretty,” Allison compliments. “Big girl, too.”

“Yeah, she’s a bit bigger than females usually are,” Stiles says, tangling his fingers in the fur on the back of her neck. “Shame she had to retire, but I’m glad to have her.”

“Derek isn’t,” Scott says, still hovering behind the couch.

“Screw him,” Stiles scoffs. “He’s jealous because he isn’t as beautiful as this lovely lady when he’s all dogged out.” He’s pretty sure Bojangles preens at the praise.

``

Sunday afternoon, Derek demands via mass text that the entire pack meet up at his property. For a brief moment, Stiles considers bringing Bojangles. She’d love all that room to run around. But she hasn’t met most of the pack, and Derek’s a big old fuddy duddy about her. So after he takes her on a good long walk and brushes out her fur, Stiles hollers to his dad that he’s headed out to meet up with Scott and Allison.

He’s the last to arrive, and Erica and Isaac run up to the Jeep when it pulls up—not unlike puppies—but they both crinkle their noses when he steps out. “That thing’s smell is all over you,” Isaac pouts.

“If you’re good, I’ll let you meet her,” Stiles says, and the two exchange glances. “Once she sees that you aren’t stranger danger threats, she’ll like you, and you’ll like her, and everyone can just get over it.”

Erica shrugs. “Whatever you say, Stiles.” And she hooks her arm through his and leads him up to the house.

They’ve decided to do renditions on the old place. It’s high time that Derek stop living in this tomb of a house. Stiles knows all about how empty a place can feel when someone leaves, and he only lost one, not the dozen that Derek did. So they’re going to fix the place up, restore its former glory, and hopefully Derek can start remembering the good times and not just that one horrible moment brought on by Kate Argent.

They’re starting with the common areas of the house first, the living room, the kitchen, and the library. Those are the three most used rooms. From there they’ll move onto the dining room, parlor, and the bedrooms. There’s a freaking ton of those upstairs.

Stiles has barely made it through the kitchen door when he’s grabbed and pushed up against the wall. Yeah, okay, he really should have just brought the dog. Derek is all up in his personal space, his usual surly scowl in place. “So, this wall seems structurally sound,” Stiles comments.

“Shut up,” Derek growls. He’s close, just, like, really close, and Stiles’s heart is pounding in his ears. Derek can obviously hear it. China can probably hear it. Derek starts to lean down, and holy God, is that really about to happen?

But Derek’s face dips even lower, and he’s suddenly pressed up against Stiles’s neck. It’s really not so much his face that’s all up in there but his hair, and he’s nuzzling around, and it’s very reminiscent of Erica’s method of getting Bojangles’s scent from him the other day.

“Oh my God, really,” Stiles complains. “Are you trying to rub her scent off me too?”

Derek only growls and presses in closer.

The door opens, and Scott and Allison walk in. They stop short, and Scott looks half a second from crying. “I don’t want to know,” he says. “Do I? No. No, I don’t. I’m just going to go now.” And he hurries back out.

Allison, however, hovers. Stiles does not appreciate the sly smile stretching her lips. “You boys okay in here,” she asks.

“You aren’t decent,” Stiles responds.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says. “Some snacks, a condom.”

Derek doesn’t fully take his head out of Stiles’s neck, but he jerks to stare at her. “ _Mean Girls_ , really,” Stiles asks dryly.

“Always applicable,” Allison says with a wave as she glides out after Scott.

Why is this Stiles’s life?

``

When he gets home, Bojangles is happy to see him. She barks and runs circles around him, and when he drops to the ground, she pushes into his space, licking and nuzzling. It takes him a second, but then he cries, “Not you too!”

His dad arches a brow, and Bojangles just stares at him with an innocent “who me?” expression.

``

It keeps happening. Stiles gets to school, and he’s rubbed down by the pack. He gets home, and Bojangles returns the favor. He goes to the Hale house, and Derek shoves him up against a wall.

This is starting to get ridiculous.

And seriously, what is Stiles’s life that it’s a full week before he starts using the word “starting.”

He introduces the pack one by one to Bojangles. It’s slow going, because something about the werewolves doesn’t sit well with Bojangles. Stiles figures she knows they’re dangerous, and she just doesn’t trust that around her people. Stiles can’t help the swell of pride for how well the department trained her, not to mention, her own instincts.

So, it’s slow going, but eventually Bojangles warms up to the pack, and in turn they begin to like her. She never stops barking at them when they show up at the Stilinski house, but after a few good sniffs, she lets them be. If she sticks a little bit closer to Stiles than normal until they leave, whatever, they’re still all getting along.

The only one left with a problem is Derek.

It’s Lydia who finally calls him out on it. Brutally honest Lydia, who Stiles is so glad to be buddies with, because as long as it’s not him that she’s tearing into, she is just made of gold.

It’s the end of the school year, a warm and cloudless day, and they’re all at the Hale house—which is coming along nicely—for a picnic. They’ve got blankets spread out over the fallen leaves, lots of snacks, and Boyd is lighting up the charcoal to grill up steaks.

When the Hale Pack picnics, they picnic fancy.

They’ve barely finished setting up when Derek grabs hold of Stiles and pulls him down, wrapping around him to cover Bojangles’s scent with his. It’s been months since Stiles got the dog, months since Derek started up this new little habit. He can’t struggle his way out of the hold, so he just sits there and takes it. Like a man. Erica and Isaac take pity on him. Erica lays her head in his lap, Isaac against his legs. Erica nudges her head until he digs his fingers into her hair. Isaac pouts that Stiles can’t reach his, but Derek’s legs framing Stiles prevents him from scooting up closer.

“Oh really,” Lydia heaves with a longsuffering sigh. Derek’s arms tighten around Stiles, and he can feel the low rumble of a growl in Derek’s chest. “Will you please just admit what’s going on here? This is getting tiring.”

Allison smiles indulgently, but Scott hisses, “Lydia.” It’s really more of a whine. His eyes dart back and forth between her and Derek.

“Say what now,” Stiles asks. If this is another one of those Don’t-Tell-Stiles-He’s-Only-Human things again, he’s going to go find Deaton and ask for like a magical rolled up newspaper or something, and he is going to town on some snouts.

“This scenting war,” Lydia says, flipping her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. “You do realize, Derek, that you are competing with a dog, right?”

“Hey,” Stiles protests a little bit. Sure, she’s only a dog, but Stiles loves and adores Bojangles, and he will not stand for anyone insulting her, because she is the smartest and most beautiful puppy in the world.

Lydia ignores him. Story of his life. Not so much recently, but whatever. “You are jealous of a dog,” she says.

Derek growls and Stiles grins. “Aw, poor guy, you want some attention too,” he asks, bringing a hand up and back to tuck into Derek’s thick hair. He’d feel more threatened by the snarl if Derek wasn’t leaning into the touch. “You know, if you would just give her a chance.”

“He’s got a chunk of testosterone clogging his brain,” Lydia comments. Her smile isn’t at all sweet. “No need to be so macho, Derek. You’re still the Alpha of this pack, even if we all know who’s really holding things together.”

“Shut up, Lydia,” Derek grumbles.

“Oh, no, do go on,” Allison says, and her answering smile to Derek’s growl is sweet. If you ignore that mischievous flash in her eyes.

“Or you could not,” Jackson grunts.

Lydia pays him no mind and focuses on Allison. “Well, you see, it’s like this,” she says. “Derek is the Alpha. He’s the one who bit and turned Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Ergo, we know that they are bound by the dynamics of the pack to defer to his command. It’s not really quite the same with the rest of us. Let’s consider Scott for a moment. He was bitten by Peter Hale, and sure, Derek took his Alpha status from his uncle, but Scott isn’t bound to follow him. However, he does. Why is that?”

“Well, I’ve noticed that Scott seems to follow along with Stiles’s plans, and Stiles often confers with Derek,” Allison says, and Stiles feels his cheeks redden just a bit. They are doing this on purpose, and not cool, girls.

“Indeed,” Lydia says. “So Scott keeps his loyalty to the pack because Stiles is considered pack by Derek and his betas. Obviously, you come into play because you are connected to Scott.”

“Good point,” Allison says. Good point his left foot.

“Additionally, Jackson and I are certainly willing to go along with Derek’s command, but quite frankly, we’ve known Stiles for just about our whole lives. If I had to choose between them, it’s not a contest,” Lydia says. Stiles may or may not preen a bit at that. Derek’s arms tighten.

“And so,” Lydia concludes, “I think it’s reasonable to say that Stiles is the connecting point for all of us, very essential to the pack. And Derek is jealous of a dog because she isn’t pack and is taking away from Stiles’s attention here. He’s having to share, and he doesn’t like it.”

Lydia looks very pleased with herself, Allison is covering a grin behind her hand, the pups look a bit uncomfortable, and Jackson rolls his eyes. “Don’t sugar coat it or anything, okay,” he says. “But seriously though. Stilinski, just bring the dog and make him get over it. He’s freaking grumpy as hell, and no one wants to watch the cuddle fest every time you come over.”

“You’re just jealous because you’re not all up on this hot body,” Stiles says, willing his face to not turn the color of a tomato.

``

Stiles finishes the last of his finals and sends Derek a text telling him to stop being a sourwolf and come over as he drives home. His dad’s on shift, so he’s got the house to himself, and there will be no questions as to why Derek Hale is over. Because even though his name has been cleared of those murder charges, Stiles is still pretty sure his dad would question why the weird guy who is six years older and lives in the woods is hanging out at their house.

Derek gets there before him and has the good sense to wait in his car on the side of the road. As he stumbles out of the Jeep, Stiles can already hear Bojangles barking. She sounds more excited than vicious, so he’ll count that as a momentary victory. Derek follows him up the walk and to the front door. Stiles holds up a finger, unlocks the door and slips inside.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greets, rubbing behind her ears and under her jaw. “We got a new visitor. I know he’s grumpy and you didn’t like him last time, but let’s try to be friendly today, okay?” He reaches for her leash and walking treats. Her tail is wagging furiously, assuming it’s time for a usual walk.

He grips the leash firmly and opens the door for her to dart out. On the porch, she suddenly freezes. Derek has backed off some, leaning up against the railing. His eyes narrow at the dog. Bojangles is growling a bit, but she isn’t barking like she’s ready to throw down, so that’s good.

Stiles moves to stand in front of her, and she whines a bit, displeased that he’s putting himself out of her bubble of protection. Standing straight above her, he gives a firm signal for her to sit. She doesn’t look happy, but she does it and then falls silent at that command as well. “Good girl, Bo,” he says, offering her a treat as he crouches down to her eye level. “Bo, this is Derek. He’s an okay guy, even if he is a sourwolf. He’s a friend. You wanna be good and let him get to know you some?”

“She can’t understand you,” Derek comments.

“You hush,” Stiles snips. “She’s the smartest.”

“I didn’t say German Shepherds aren’t an intelligent breed, but she can’t understand you like a person,” Derek says. Stiles glances over his shoulder with a look that he hopes fully encompasses all that is the word “duh.”

He turns his sight back on Bojangles, wrapping an arm around her and saying, “Okay, be slow, but come over and put your hand out.”

“I know how to make contact,” Derek says. He sounds like he wants to snap, but that would just get the dog worked up again. Instead, he just does as Stiles says, and Stiles files this moment away. Because when does that ever happen?

Derek slowly comes up within a few inches of Bojangles’s snout, and then he stops and just waits. Bojangles stares at him, brown eyes carefully calculating. Her nose is twitching, taking in every scent. Finally, after a few long minutes that really have Stiles itching to fidget around, she leans forward enough to touch the tip of her snout to Derek’s palm and licks.

“Atta girl,” Stiles praises, offering her another treat and ear scratch. Derek gives him a look. Stiles grins widely and asks, “You want one too?” Derek’s face does a weird spasm, and Stiles knows he really wants to slap him upside the head but doesn’t dare with the dog right there.

Seriously, bringing Bojangles home. Best. Decision. Ever.


End file.
